


Flight by Day, Fight by Night

by pterawaters



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Coffee Shops, Journalism, Kurt is a reporter, M/M, Puck is a superhero, Romance, Superheroes, Writing the Fic I Didn't Write Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By day, Noah Puckerman has an uneventful and peaceful job at a coffee shop, where he can hide behind the counter and ignore everything but the smell of coffee beans and the chime of the cash register. By night, he wears a mask and risks his neck fighting crime, which he knows kind of makes him an idiot, but it also makes him different, cuts him in half down the middle and makes it easier to compartmentalize, move forward in life. The only thing that ties the two sides together is that they're both in love with Kurt Hummel, the reporter who lurks around looking for interviews at night and smiles when he orders his daily dose of caffeine in the morning. (Summary written by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/greenglowsgold/pseuds/greenglowsgold">greenglowsgold</a>!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight by Day, Fight by Night

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, I wrote a big bang for the [Fic I Didn't Write Challenge](http://puckurt.livejournal.com/1745687.html)! Title by [benwilson45133](http://benwilson45133.livejournal.com/). Story idea and summary by [greenglowsgold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/greenglowsgold/pseuds/greenglowsgold). Also beta read by greenglowsgold. I hope you guys like it!

The kick to Puck's ass wasn't unexpected, and it wasn't even moderately painful, but it was annoying. "Ow. Quit it, Santana." Puck turned around another bag of beans, looking for the one with the earliest delivery date, so they could get rid of it first, and save the fresher beans for later on in the week (or for when Puck was having a bad day and wanted to dip into the good stuff a little early).

"Loverboy's here," she said, winking when Puck looked up at her. "Get your ass out of the closet and make him his latte, Puckerman."

"He's not my loverboy," Puck groused, but he moved his ass out of the storeroom and behind the counter. He absolutely didn't notice the reporter light up when he saw Puck take over for Tina at the espresso machine. Sam took the guy's order, like always. (Puck didn't let Sam anywhere near the coffee if he could help it.) And then Sam set the cup at the end of Puck's line of orders to fill. 

Not that he would admit it, but Puck half-assed his way through the line of waiting customers, getting their drinks done as fast as humanly possible before moving on. He could have strangled the woman who'd ordered her latte made with almond milk, until Tina tapped his shoulder and said, "Here, I'll take that one. You get Robin."

"Thanks," Puck sighed, picking "Robin's" cup from the front of the line. Well, the name "Robin" was scrawled across the cup in Sam's jagged handwriting, but on more than one occasion Robin had assured Puck that it wasn't his real name. He never provided his actual name, however, which Puck found more than a little perturbing. It wasn't like Puck had a leg to stand on when it came to secret identities, however. Looking up, Puck spotted Robin and nodded at him, "Hey." 

Robin bounded over to the counter and leaned on it as Puck got started on his drink. "Hi! How's it going?"

"Fine," Puck replied, giving Robin a leering smile. Robin blushed and looked down for a second, which Puck found more than a little satisfying. "Write anything good lately?"

Robin made a dismissive hand gesture. "Nah. Just a few fluffy fashion pieces. Not that I don't love fashion, but there are other things in the world, you know?" Smiling, he leaned further against the counter and asked in a lower voice, "Did you hear about what The Spartan did last night?"

Chuckling to himself, Puck put on a straight face as he turned back toward Robin and topped his latte with three shakes of cinnamon. "No. What did he do?"

"He singlehandedly stopped a jewelry-store robbery. There were five perps and The Spartan took them all down, even after one of them stabbed him in the arm!"

Puck caught himself flexing the newly-healed muscles and made himself stop. Stalling for time, Puck wiped some stray foam from the edge of Robin's cup. "That's some pretty detailed info. How do you know so much about what happened?"

Grinning and wide-eyed as he took the cup from Puck's hand, Robin said, "I was _there_. God, he was so brave. And handsome."

Running his hand back through his Mohawk, Puck asked Robin, "Got a little crush, there, dude?"

"No," Robin insisted, taking a sip of his latte (Puck always slipped a few ice cubes into Robin's drink so he wouldn't burn his tongue) and groaning almost obscenely. The blush on Robin's cheeks belied his answer. "No, I'm going to do an exposé on The Spartan. When I'm done with him, the man will be a mystery no more!"

_Shit_. Puck moved out of Santana's way and wiped down the counter in front of Robin. "Isn't that a bad idea? What if The Spartan has a good reason for keeping his identity a secret? You'll keep him from doing his work."

"The people of this city," Robin took another sip of his coffee, "deserve to know what's going on. Plus, a Pulitzer would look fabulous on my mantel." Then Robin flitted away, taking his usual seat in the corner, his back against the wall and his computer in his lap.

Santana pressed a new cup into Puck's hand and whispered in his ear, "You gotta stay on top of that situation, Spar— I mean _Puck_. Keep Loverboy on his back, he won't have time to figure out who you are."

"And I won't have time to work," Puck countered, reading the order on the cup and filling it as quickly as his distracted brain would allow. He burned his hand with steamed milk, but it healed quickly enough that no one noticed.

It wasn't the first time the press had taken an interest in The Spartan, since he'd first started working five years ago, but most of the reporters who came after Puck were idiots or assholes. "Robin" was neither of those things, and he was enthusiastic to boot. Puck might as well kiss his alter ego goodbye right away. It wasn't going to last long if Robin was on the case. 

Well, to be fair, Puck didn't exactly know who Robin was. Yet. It was only a matter of time before The Spartan found out. 

When Puck did find out Robin's real name, there were things he could do, steps he could take, Santanas he could release into the fray. This fight wasn't lost yet, and The Spartan never backed down from a fight until he was well and truly beaten. Well, Puck figured he'd back out of a fight when he was well and truly beaten, but to be honest, it hadn't happened yet.

~*~

Kurt painstakingly assembled a map of the city, logging areas of high crime and areas where The Spartan intervened. For a superhero, he seemed oddly set in his ways. The territory he mostly stuck to was about ten square blocks of downtown. To be fair, that was also where the majority of crimes were committed, so it wasn't like The Spartan's efforts were going to waste.

Kurt decided that if The Spartan had such a limited range, it shouldn't be too difficult to find him. However, the first night he went out, Kurt trudged up and down the streets of downtown for five hours and didn't find anything.

He didn't find The Spartan on the second night, either. When he got home and Rachel asked him, "Where have you been all night?" Kurt shrugged and lied.

"Out on a date. It didn't go well."

Rachel pouted at him and made him a cup of sleepy-time tea before going to bed for her beauty rest. "I have another show tomorrow, you know. I have to look my best!"

Kurt didn't point out that Rachel was still an understudy for the smallest role in the production. Though it was his job to deflate her head now and then, he was too tired to even consider it that night. Maybe after half a night's sleep and his morning latte, he'd send her a scathing text or two. The third night was a Friday, and it was a little warmer out. Kurt didn't even need a hat, though he wore one anyway, because he liked the way he looked in a hat. There were more people out on the streets than the previous two nights, but nothing seemed amiss.

Nothing seemed amiss until almost two in the morning, while Kurt was walking past a dark alley. A high voice whimpered and Kurt heard sounds of scuffling feet and maybe even the crack of a punch against flesh. Heart beating overtime in his throat, Kurt crept into the alley, trying to keep out of sight. He knew he would be no match for a mugger, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket with one hand, ready to call the police, and grabbed his bottle of mace with the other.

Kurt peered around the edge of a dumpster just as a woman rushed past him, out onto the bright street. Kurt was about to go after her when he heard another set of footsteps approaching. This set sounded heavier and slower, so Kurt took a peek. The Spartan, his gold helmet shimmering in the low light from a lamp at the end of the alley, and his cape swishing behind him, carried what looked like a body over his shoulder. Kurt tried to make out his famously bare chest, but there wasn't enough light to see much.

Kurt leaned further forward and The Spartan stopped in his tracks. Eyes on Kurt, he took a few more steps forward, edging around Kurt like he might be dangerous.

"I—" Kurt tried to say before clearing his throat. "Mr. Spartan? I'm a reporter with The Lima Herald. Could I have an interview?"

The Spartan stared at Kurt for a few seconds before turning and walking away without a word. He dropped the body at the entrance of the alley and tied the man's hands and feet together with two zip ties he pulled out of his belt. 

Kurt hurried forward. "Please? What exactly happened here? Did you thwart a mugging? A rape?"

The Spartan stood and pulled a cell phone out of his belt. He kept his eyes on Kurt and a few seconds later, he said in a rough voice, "Spartan. Pickup. Eighth and Lex. Witness' name Mary Harcroft." The Spartan then ended the call, stashed his phone back in his belt (Kurt was _not_ staring at The Spartan's bare chest or thighs, definitely not).

"Is that how you always—" Kurt began to ask, but The Spartan cut him off by giving Kurt a salute and running away, his cape flapping behind him.

Kurt watched in disappointment. If The Spartan wasn't going to give Kurt an interview, this whole story was going to be that much harder to write. It was okay, though. Kurt had experience getting info out of reluctant subjects. The Spartan needed to work a lot harder to keep Kurt at bay.

~*~

It didn't take Puck long to lose the reporter. All it took was running a few blocks ahead, turning into an alley, and jumping up onto a fire escape. Normal people rarely looked _up_ when they were chasing someone. Of course, normal people couldn't jump fifteen feet straight up from a standstill. 

The reporter did search the alley for a minute, but he didn't spot Puck, and eventually he left with a dissatisfied sigh. Now was Puck's chance. He followed the reporter, sticking to rooftops and fire escapes when he could. This was the first night in a long time he regretted wearing such a noticeable costume. He really did need a secondary ninja-suit or something, but it had been difficult enough getting Santana to make him this one. 

In any case, Puck did manage to make it all the way to an apartment building, which the reporter let himself into. Puck watched until he saw a set of lights come on, pinpointing the apartment the reporter lived in.

Luckily, the building didn't have a doorman, just a lock that was easy enough to pick. When Puck had first discovered his superpowers, he'd thought about pursuing a life of crime. It would be easy enough to steal the money he needed to live on. But then he remembered what happened to all the villains in his comic books. They got caught.

As far as Puck could tell, he was the only person in the world with honest-to-God superpowers. He hadn't come across any Magnetos or Mr. Freezes, just ordinary day-to-day scumbags.

Putting them in police hands always made Puck feel like he'd chosen the right side, no matter how good he was at breaking into buildings.

He found the apartment the reporter lived in and memorized the number, 5C, before heading back for the staircase. Halfway there, a door whipped open and Puck froze. For half a second, Puck didn't see anyone, but then he realized there was a small child at the door. She looked up at him with giant eyes, opened her mouth, and took a deep breath.

Quickly, Puck put a finger over his mouth and said, "Shhh! I'm after a bad guy!"

The little girl froze for a second before letting out her breath. Then she whispered, "He lives in this building?"

She looked scared, so Puck shook his head quickly. He knelt down to get at her level and said, "A friend of mine lives here. He was just giving me some top secret information about the bad guy. Now you go back to bed, and I'll go fight evil, okay?"

"Okay, Mr. Spartan," she said, before slamming the door in his face. 

Puck hightailed it out of there before any of the other neighbors caught him snooping. He did stop at the mailboxes and jimmy open 5C. All of the mail was addressed to either "occupant", "Rachel Berry" or "Kurt Hummel". Puck guessed Kurt Hummel was the name he needed. Just so he wouldn't forget the name, Puck stole Kurt's newsletter from the gym down the street. 

Making his way home, so he could shower and change before his 5 am shift, Puck thought about how weird it was that "Robin" had a real name. He was Kurt Hummel. Kurt. 

Puck liked it.

~*~

"No," Schuester said, handing Kurt's draft back to him as they walked through the office. "Do that assignment I gave you yesterday."

"But, Schue!" Kurt tried, getting around in front of his editor. "I'm _this_ close to figuring out who The Spartan really is!"

"That's a five-year-old story," Schue replied, getting past Kurt and stopping at Mercedes' desk to check off the layouts she had ready for him. As he marked bright red across Mercedes' work, he continued, "Everyone has tried to figure out The Spartan. Quinn Fabray lost nine months of her career to that story. It's a mystery you're never going to solve."

"But—"

"No," Schue said, and this time it sounded final. Kurt slumped into himself. "Do your assignment and forget about The Spartan."

Schue walked away, leaving Kurt fuming in place. "Argh!"

"Maybe he's right, honey," Mercedes said, rearranging her layouts into a neat stack. "I know you can't afford to lose this job."

Adam, one of the staff photographers, stopped at Mercedes' desk and said in his British accent, "I know about five of my old classmates who'd be happy to take it off your hands."

"When hell freezes over." Kurt frowned, and then realized he wasn't being very nice to his friends. "No, I know. You guys are right. But I _saw_ him last night. I _talked_ to him. I'm so close!"

"Were his abs as delicious in person?" Mercedes grinned and nudged Kurt's hip with her own.

Smirking, Kurt replied, "Drool-worthy."

"I don't know. I'm not such a big fan of muscles, myself," Adam said, chewing on the end of a pen. "I'm more for a sharp mind, to be honest."

"Good luck finding that in this city," Kurt scoffed, wondering why Mercedes was giving him such a weird look. "Ugh. If I'm gonna write another mindless 500 words about teacup pets, I'm gonna need some coffee. Anyone else want something?"

"I'll go with you," Adam offered, standing up straighter and taking the pen out of his mouth. "My treat."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Kurt said with a sigh. "I really just want to wallow in my near-miss alone. Another time."

Adam looked more disappointed than Kurt would have expected of him. "Oh, right. Yeah, of course. Who doesn't enjoy a good wallow?"

"Yeah. Alright. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Kurt wandered down toward the elevator and then across the street to the Lima Bean. While the coffee wasn't his favorite in the whole city, the shop did have its draws. It was the closest coffee shop to work (except for the horrid espresso cart in the lobby), and it had several exceptionally handsome baristas. Kurt's favorite was the one with the short-cropped, curly dark hair.

~*~

By mid-morning, Puck gave up on seeing Kurt that day. He must not have had time to stop for coffee after being out so late the night before. By mid-morning Puck also regretted telling Santana "Robin's" real name.

"Oh, and look here," Santana said, showing the screen of her phone to Puck. "It says here that _Kurt_ is councilman Hummel's son! Isn't he the guy who tried to get the city to build a statue of you?"

"I-I saved his wife from a car crash," Puck said, remembering the cold bite of ice against his knees as he pulled the woman out of her totaled car, rolling them to safety before another out-of-control car slid down the icy hill and rammed into the woman's car. "Kurt's her _son_?"

The bell on the front door rang and the man himself walked into the shop, his focus down as he rummaged through his bag for something. Santana laughed. "Speak of the devil."

And then, even though they were the only two working the post-morning-rush timeslot, Santana hauled ass off to god knew where. Puck was alone behind the counter.

"Hey," he said, giving Kurt a smile. "The usual?"

"Yeah," Kurt said, handing over his bank card. He seemed more weary than he ever had before. "With an extra shot of espresso."

"Feelin' okay?" Puck asked as he rang Kurt up. (Hey, look at that. His card had his name right on it.) "You're not your usual self this morning."

At the last second, Puck remembered he was supposed to write "Robin" on the cup, not, "Kurt," but he managed to turn the K into an R. He finished marking the order and set about making the drink.

"It's just...it's been a long couple of days. I thought I was really close to a story, but then..." Kurt stuck out his chin and popped a stirring stick into his mouth, even as he pouted. Puck thought it was cute. "My boss killed the story. It's back to the coal mines for me."

Finishing off the (non-fat) whipped cream topping, Puck asked, "You got a canary?"

"What? No, I— Oh." Kurt rolled his eyes, but he also laughed. "Very funny, Mr. Coffee man."

Puck grabbed the nutmeg and cinnamon shakers. "So, your big story is really dead, huh?"

"Well..." Kurt tilted his head to the side and Puck recognized the look. It was the look of someone who was down but not out. Shit. He had to keep a lid on this. Kurt couldn't keep following Puck out into the night like he had been. It was dangerous, even when you did have super powers. 

Maybe Santana was right, and Puck really did need to keep a closer eye on this reporter. If he was anything like his mother, he was stubborn as hell, so Puck needed a major distraction. In a stroke of desperation, he wrote his number on the cup, along with his name and the simple message, "Call me." Then he handed the cup over. "Buck up, soldier."

Kurt gave Puck a brilliant grin. He sipped his coffee all the way out of the store, but not once did he stop and notice the message on his cup. 

Puck groaned and let his forehead fall against the counter. Santana found him that way and slapped his ass. "Back to work, Romeo." 

~*~

"Hey, Boo, what's that?" Mercedes said when she stopped by his desk that afternoon, making him look up from the gory research he'd been doing into the congenital defects rampant in teacup dogs. She pointed at Kurt's coffee cup, which he'd finished draining a few hours previous, but hadn't thrown away yet. Mercedes picked up the cup and looked at it more carefully before giving Kurt a wicked grin. "The barista gave you his number!"

"What?" Kurt cried, standing up and snatching the cup out of her hand. He turned the cup and found that, indeed, there was a number written on the cup in the same black marker as the check-boxes. Beside it was a scrawl that looked kind of like, "Puck," but that couldn't be a real name, right?

"You should call him," Mercedes insisted, snatching Kurt's phone from his desk and the cup from his hand. "I bet a good _Puck_ is just what you need right about now."

"Oh, my god!" Kurt tried to grab his phone back from Mercedes, but she wasn't having any of it. Somehow she managed to avoid his grasp and put the number into his phone at the same time. Eventually she said, "There! I didn't– Settle down, boo, I didn't call him." She handed the phone over, and Kurt took it gratefully. 

He was about to erase the number, but then he hesitated. "What if I get a lead on The Spartan soon? I won't be able to go on dates."

Mercedes frowned and raised her eyebrows at him. "You'll be able to go on dates. This is the really hot barista, right? The one with the Mohawk?"

"Yeah." Kurt ran his thumb across the edge of his phone a few times, staring at Puck's number.

"I know you," she said, lowering her voice, so no one else in the office could overhear. "I know you like to pretend like you're this tough-as-nails reporter without a heart. But you're a big old romantic, Kurt. We watch Moulin Rouge twice a year and you always cry! I guarantee if you delete that number, you're going to regret it. Just _think_ about calling him, okay?"

Kurt took in what Mercedes was saying and reminded himself that she was his friend. She only had his best interests at heart. And maybe she was right. Maybe he did need to take a look at his priorities. Kurt shrugged, "I guess I could text."

" _Perfect_." Mercedes grinned. "Just don't forget that sarcasm doesn't always come across."

"That was one email!" Kurt cried, returning Mercedes' grin. "And I managed not to get fired, thank you very much!"

Mercedes' laugh followed Kurt as he ran away to the kitchenette and spent a full minute staring at the number in his phone and imagining what could happen if he _did_ send a text. It could be really great.

If it was meant to be, it could also wait a few days. Kurt would just have to get his coffee elsewhere in the meantime. Either that or endure the awkward interactions with a guy who'd stated his intentions and had yet to receive an answer.

Puck. Barista Puck.

Kurt's parents would have a field day.

~*~

By the time he finished his article and made his way home, Kurt had proposed a deal with himself. He would go out looking for The Spartan once more. And then he would call Puck and ask him out on a date. It seemed a fair balance between his career ambitions and his personal life.

Kurt doubted Mercedes would agree, so he told her he was spending the night with his DVR to work up the courage to text Puck. It seemed like a reasonable lie at the time.

As he left his apartment, Kurt patted his pockets to make sure everything was in place. He had his phone, his ID, enough cash to get a cab home, his can of mace, and his dad's old pocket knife. Kurt didn't like how it ruined the lines of his pants, so the pocket knife he put in the inner breast pocket of his coat. He finished off the look with his hat and set off toward downtown. 

Tonight, Kurt was going to find The Spartan if it killed him.

The night started off like all the other nights. Most people ignored Kurt, a few gave him curious or interested looks, but for the most part, Lima was peaceful. Kurt knew the most recent crime statistics begged to differ. People in this town were unemployed and underemployed and more and more people turned to crime. 

Eventually, Kurt did see something suspicious. A dark van pulled into an alley and a guy wearing dark clothing walked out of the alley a few seconds later, walking swiftly around the building. Kurt got closer and watched as the guy scared off two people who were using an ATM. It was then that Kurt realized the building was a bank. 

Heart pounding in his chest, Kurt hid in the doorway recess of the next building over and watched the man go back into the alley. He crept forward to see what was going on.

Once he reached the alley, Kurt saw at least four people, all in dark clothes, leave the van and go into the bank through what looked like an employees only access. 

Kurt turned out of the alley and pressed his back against the building wall. He knew he should call the cops, but if they came right away, The Spartan wouldn't. And then a thought occurred to Kurt.

The night before, The Spartan had related the witness' name to the police. That meant he had to have talked to her. If Kurt got closer, if he witnessed what was going on in the bank, The Spartan would _have_ to talk to him, if only to get his name.

An excited smile spread across Kurt's face and he adjusted his hat so it was a little more secure. "Here goes nothing."

Kurt crept into the alley as quietly as he could, sticking close to the wall until he could get a good look into the van's windows. The alley was too dark to see much, but Kurt was pretty sure there wasn't anyone in the van. That meant all the bad guys were in the bank.

Kurt moved over to the bank door as quickly and quietly as possible. It was held open with a tire iron, so Kurt grabbed hold of the iron. He held it still as best he could as he pulled open the door. Getting inside the building, Kurt kept the tire iron steady as he let the door swing gently shut. It pinned the tire iron up, so it didn't fall when Kurt carefully let it go.

Kurt turned around and came face-to-face with a man in a ski mask. "Oh."

The man grabbed Kurt's arm and lifted him off-balance before he could even think about trying to get away. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm just a reporter!" Kurt cried, wincing as the man squeezed his arm tighter. If only he could reach his can of mace with the other hand. "I saw you break in and thought I'd get a scoop!"

"You're a dumbass, ain't ya?"

"Yes?"

The man scoffed and pulled a gun out of his waistband as he let go of Kurt's arm. Oh, god! This was it! Kurt was going to die! He threw his hands up to prove he was unarmed and the guy rolled his eyes. "C'mon. You can wait in the vault until we're long gone. Just don't try anything funny and you'll have your story in the morning."

Kurt let out a mildly relieved breath and edged around the man, heading deeper into the bank.

~*~

When Puck's phone buzzed in his belt, he thought it had to be Kurt, finally calling him. Until he realized it was his work phone, and he'd left his other phone at home. Only two people knew the rotating number to his work phone, and only one ever called. The other was Lauren, the tech who'd built him the phone, which hacked the cell towers and scrambled his location. "Hey, Finn, what's going on?"

"Silent alarm at a bank downtown, dude," the detective said. Puck still shook his head, thinking about how weird it was that his childhood friend became a cop.

"Break in?"

"Yeah, couple of witnesses got rousted away from the building by a guy who looked like a professional. Called it in."

Puck knew there had to be more to the story. Finn never called for things the cops could handle on their own. The last time, it had been a jumper who wouldn't let police within fifty feet of her. "And?"

"A beat cop noticed the robbers' van and fuckin' engaged them without waiting for backup," Finn said, his voice indignant. Puck smiled as he pictured Finn's pissed-off face. "He's fine, but now we know they've got a civilian hostage. The captain's waiting on the negotiator before we make a move."

"You're askin' for the ol' Puckzilla charm, Hudson?"

Finn laughed, but he said, "Just do your best to get the hostage out alive, okay dude? I'll be there supporting SWAT, if you, ya know, want to say hi for a change."

Puck wanted to argue about how Finn knew exactly what hours he was keeping, holding down a full-time job in the morning and being The Spartan at night. It didn't leave a lot of room for video game marathons and touch football. But it was an argument he could have later, after the hostage was safe. "Alright, dude. Just gimme the address."

When Puck got close to the bank, the police surrounded the building, but only sparsely. Finn must have called him right away. Puck caught a fire escape on the building across the alleyway from the bank and climbed up onto the roof. The building was two floors taller than the bank, but that would just make it easier for Puck to jump down and over onto the bank's roof.

There weren't any snipers around yet, which Puck counted as a bonus, because it gave him the opportunity to pick his timing without the fear of being spotted as he waited. A few minutes later, the SWAT transport arrived, so Puck jumped over to the bank while all the cops were distracted. The locked door to the elevator equipment and the stairs broke away easily when Puck yanked on it.

He waited for a moment outside the door, just to make sure one of the bad guys wasn't going to come investigate the sound he'd made opening the door. No one came, so Puck made his way down the stairs. The second floor was all offices and completely deserted, be heard the murmuring of voices bouncing up from the floor below. 

Puck crept down the stairs, the soft soles of his sandals silent against the marble flooring. He followed the voices all the way to one end of the first floor, in the employees only area of the bank. Puck figured the vault would be back there, but there was a guy standing guard in the hallway leading to the others.

"Let me go, you lummox!" one voice called, and suddenly the hair on Puck's body all stood on end. He recognized that voice. There was none other like it. To be sure, Puck was more used to that voice saying words like, "Latte" and "non-fat whip" and "nutmeg" but it was unmistakable. Somehow, someway, Kurt Hummel got himself in the middle of a bank robbery.

"Shut up, lady-boy, and we won't have to hurt you." This voice was rough, contemptuous, and it made Puck think of sticky oil.

Puck stopped seeing red as a teenager after a short stint in Juvenile Detention, and six months with a court-appointed therapist. Six years of work and careful control of his emotions and abilities drained away when Puck realized that Kurt could be murdered at any second. Kurt's life was in the hand of some random bank robber, and Puck couldn't let that stand.

He let the red wash over him.

The first guard didn't see Puck coming, but the sound of his unconscious body hitting a wall ten feet away alerted the others, who came pouring out into the hallway, guns drawn. Puck didn't care. He didn't hold back. Puck laid into the first robber with a fist that shattered his ribs and left him gasping on the ground. The second robber fired his gun before Puck ploughed into him, slamming him against a door jamb. Something snapped. 

A third robber fired another gun and Puck distantly felt something sting his shoulder, but he ignored it, instead charging toward the robber and dropping into a slide as he let out several more rounds. Puck collided with the robber's legs and then rolled on top of him when he fell, grabbing his head and slamming it against the floor once. He lay still.

Breathing heavily, Puck scrambled the last few feet into the vault, sure that he'd been too slow, sure that Kurt was dead. Instead, Kurt was sitting on one of the robbers, the man's middle finger in his hand, stretched backward further than Puck would have thought possible. "Why were you robbing this bank?" Kurt asked the robber. "Were you going after the safety deposit boxes? Was it just about jewels, or were you after sensitive information?"

"Get off me, man!" The guy cried, struggling, then crying out when Kurt pulled another finger back. "Ow!"

Puck laughed and let himself breathe freely as he approached the two of them and took a knee. Kurt looked up, his mouth dropping open.

"You're not the police." Kurt's eyes stayed locked with Puck's for a long moment before drifting down and toward the side. "Have you been shot?"

Puck looked down at his shoulder and moved his cloak away from the stinging pain. Yeah, that was definitely a bullet hole, slowly leaking blood. "Shit."

The phone in Puck's belt buzzed at the same time the cops outside started talking through a garbled megaphone. Time to make his exit. Puck gave Kurt a long look during which he contemplated inviting the man to come with him. Ultimately the pain in his shoulder won out. A bullet to his shoulder wouldn't kill Puck, but it sure as hell was annoying. He'd have to get Santana to pull it out for him so the wound could start healing.

Giving Kurt his best smirk, Puck saluted and then took off the way he'd come. Kurt didn't follow him, probably because he was still holding down the last bad guy. 

As Puck escaped the bank ahead of the SWAT team's assault on the building, he counted himself extremely lucky. While it was harder for bullets to kill The Spartan than your average person, Puck was fairly certain he could still be killed. He'd let his temper get the best of him for the first time since he'd put on his uniform and started working as The Spartan.

Being a superhero by night and a normal guy by day only worked for one reason: Puck kept his temper during both halves of his life. He kept his temper because he never really got close to anyone, besides Santana and Finn. 

This state of affairs couldn't stand for long. Something had to give and Puck knew it had to be his attraction to Kurt.

~*~

Kurt stared at The Spartan, unable to believe his luck. For the second night in a row, Kurt had gone out looking for the superhero, and found him. This had to be fate, right? As little as Kurt believed in a higher power, part of him believed that the universe wanted him to do his story on The Spartan. That's why he'd been captured by the bank robbers in the first place.

Seeing the bullet wound in The Spartan's bare shoulder made Kurt feel a little wobbly and sick, but practically as soon as he'd pointed it out, The Spartan ran away. Kurt tried to go after him, but he realized after an aborted movement that his grip on the man underneath him was the only thing keeping the robber from attacking him.

Kurt sighed and let the story slip through his fingers. Talking to the robber, Kurt said, "I hope you know that you've cost me the story of my life."

"Bite me." The man said. Kurt pulled his finger back a fraction of an inch and smiled when he winced.

From out in the hallway, a voice called, "Police! Put your weapons down!"

"In here!" Kurt called. "Help! I got him!"

The sight of six men in full assault gear, each of them with a gun pointed at him, made Kurt's heart stutter and his mouth go dry. He let go of the man underneath him and put his hands up. The robber got up to his knees, hands on his head, like he'd been arrested several times before.

"Which one of you was the hostage?" The officer at the front of the group asked.

"Me," Kurt and the robber said simultaneously. Kurt raised an eyebrow at the robber. "Really? You're the one in break-in clothes."

"Guys," a familiar voice said from the back of the group. "The guy in the long coat is cool. I know him."

"Finn?" Kurt asked, smiling when Officer Hudson came out from around the group and most of the SWAT guys lowered their guns. A few broke away to take the bank robber into custody. "Man, am I glad you're here."

"A friend?" The leader of the SWAT team asked Finn, an unimpressed frown on his face.

"Yeah," Finn said, putting his arm around Kurt's shoulders. "Kurt and I went to High School together. Our moms are good friends. He's Burt Hummel's son. You know, the councilman?"

Kurt leaned into the half-hug, even though he'd been over his crush on Finn for several years now. Finn was his contact for insider information from the Police. There was no way Kurt would jeopardize his best resource because of a stupid crush he'd had as a teenager, nevermind the fact that Finn was hopelessly straight.

Huffing, but addressing Kurt directly this time, the SWAT leader asked, "What the hell are you doing at this bank after hours?"

Kurt could feel himself blush, but like always, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Instead, he explained his night to the officer, who finally ordered Finn to make sure Kurt made it home and didn't get in anymore trouble.

As they left the bank, Kurt asked Finn, "That could have been a lot worse, couldn't it have?"

"Yeah," Finn said, his usual grin absent. "Kurt, you could have _died_."

"This story is worth it. I'm _this_ close to figuring out who The Spartan is."

"Kurt." Stopping abruptly and grabbing Kurt's arm so he had to stop too, Finn said, "Look, The Spartan isn't that interesting. Trust me. Can't you just be grateful that he's helping us keep the peace in Lima?"

Studying Finn's face and going over Finn's words in his head for a few seconds, Kurt came to a conclusion which made him gasp. "You know who The Spartan is, don't you?"

"No!" Finn insisted, protesting too much for Kurt to ignore.

Kurt raised an eyebrow at Finn and crossed his arms over his chest.

Finn pulled Kurt to the side of the sidewalk, away from the other cops passing by, and whispered, "Okay, fine. I do know him. We were friends when he first discovered his powers. Before, you know, my mom and I moved across town and I went to McKinley."

"And I don't suppose you'd tell me—"

"Never!" Finn cut him off, practically spitting. "It's a secret I've kept for fifteen years, Kurt. I've never even told anyone I know who The Spartan is, much less told them his name. He's my oldest friend. Please don't go after this story anymore. For me?"

Kurt took a deep, cleansing breath. Kurt did love Finn. During high school, he would have done anything Finn asked. Kurt had a little more self-respect now, but as he thought over how Finn had Kurt's back all throughout high school. Kurt had probably _survived_ high school because he'd had Finn in his corner. 

Finn didn't want him doing the story. Schuester didn't want him doing the story. Kurt was pretty sure Mercedes was dying to talk about something that wasn't The Spartan during their weekly ice cream and cheesecake dates. Maybe everyone was right.

"Okay." Kurt nodded and gave Kurt his best apologetic smile. "For you."

Giving a relieved sigh, Finn returned Kurt's nod. "Good. Okay, good." He gave Kurt one of his brilliant smiles. "Now, let's get you home. It's, like, the middle of the night for people who work normal hours."

~*~

By the time Kurt got home and managed to wind down well enough to fall asleep, it was only two hours before he had to wake up for work. Pissed at the world due to lack of sleep, Kurt dressed in a manner that he would have been appalled at on any other day. Why did he even _own_ a McKinley sweatshirt?

Stumbling through the city, Kurt made it to the Lima Bean with just enough time to get about a gallon of caffeine into his system before his staff meeting. The line wasn't bad, which meant even more time to caffeinate. However, when Puck was making Kurt's drink, Kurt noticed he was moving slower than normal, and making a strange face.

"Hey," Kurt asked softly across the counter. "Are you okay? I swear, I'm working up the nerve to call you."

Puck grinned and reached for a cup lid with one hand before wincing and reaching with the other hand instead. "I'm good, thanks," he said as he handed Kurt the drink. The brush of Puck's fingers against his made Kurt tingle happily. "Just pulled a muscle working out last night."

Kurt stirred some of the whipped cream into his drink and met Puck's eyes. They were a good hazel color, a nice mixture of brown and green that Kurt found very appealing.

And...very _familiar_! Where had he seen--

Kurt pictured The Spartan's helmet on Puck's head and those eyes were the same eyes as last night! Kurt had to bite his lip so he wouldn't scream out loud. Kurt's barista-maybe-love-interest was The Spartan!

Of course, he hadn't pulled a muscle working out. He'd been shot while trying to rescue Kurt! 

Kurt had his story! Except, he'd promised Finn he wouldn't publish the story! Kurt had finally found the Holy Grail of journalism in this city and he couldn't take it without breaking a promise to the boy he'd loved throughout high school, and a good friend. Damn it.

Keeping a straight face as best he could, Kurt said, "I, um. I'll call you later today. I promise." And then he high-tailed it out of there, unsure whether he wanted to call The Spartan and ask him out on a date, or lose his number and find another coffee shop with coffee even half as good anywhere in the city. How was he supposed to patronize the shop anymore, when all he could think about was that his favorite barista went out at night and fought crime as what? His main hobby?

What was he going to do?

~*~

It was mid afternoon when Santana burst into Puck's room and shook him awake. "Hey, asshole!"

"What?" Puck replied sleepily, stopping himself from swatting her away at the last second. God, she should know better than to wake him up. One smack from Puck could probably kill her if it landed right. "Go away!"

"Your phone is ringing." Santana slapped Puck's cheek once before he caught her hand so she couldn't do it again.

"My phone or my _phone_?" he asked, accepting the fact that he was awake now and probably would be until his shift ended tomorrow mid-morning.

Santana shoved Puck's regular phone in his face. He took it and said, "It's from an unknown caller. Why did you wake me up for this shit?"

"Because, dumbass," she said, pulling her hand out of his grasp and bouncing down on the bed beside him. "It's probably Kurt!"

Puck couldn't hit the accept button fast enough. "Hi? Hello?"

"Hey, Puck?" said a high-pitched voice and suddenly Puck wanted to kiss Santana for having the balls to wake him up. "It's, well you know me as _Robin_."

"Hey, hi," Puck said, a smile on his face until he remembered that this wasn't just about getting a date. Kurt was on a mission to figure out his identity, and apparently he was so eager for the information, he'd get himself kidnapped by bank robbers before he gave up the cause. So, Puck reminded himself that this was just another mission, and he put on his best charm voice. "I didn't think you were ever gonna call me back, Beautiful."

Santana gave Puck a raised brow and rolled her eyes at him.

"Oh, god," Kurt replied with a giggle. "Wow. Okay. My name's actually Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"Nice to finally make your acquaintance, Kurt Kurt Hummel," Puck replied. Santana rolled her eyes at him again. Making a sound that was probably an amused snort, Kurt said, "Now, I know it's short notice, but would you like to join me for dinner tonight?"

"Like, as a date, right?" Puck asked, wanting to be sure. Sometimes Puck misread peoples' signals. It was how he spent nearly a week during high school trying to convince Santana to date him before she straight up told him she was gay. And also that it was rude not to accept no for an answer the first time. 

"Yes, as a date." Kurt paused for a second, so Puck figured he was waiting for an answer. But when Puck started to say yes, Kurt added, "At my place. Dinner at my place. If that's okay?"

Puck saw two possibilities right away. First was that Kurt was cheap and didn't want to pay for a dinner out. The second was that Kurt wanted to get Puck alone as soon as possible and do unspeakable things to him. Puck felt more than okay with either possibility. "Yeah, sure."

Puck found a pen and took down Kurt's address. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"I'm looking forward to it," Kurt replied with another awkward laugh. "So, um, bye for now."

"Bye," Puck said before disconnecting the call. 

Santana gagged, but grinned at Puck even as she cuffed him on the back of the head. "Way to go, Puckerman. Looks like you will be getting laid sometime this century. Make sure you don't permanently injure him with your super sperm."

Groaning, Puck let his head fall into his hands. "We disproved that, remember?"

"Yeah, but only after, like, most of a bottle of Everclear. I still say we should try it again sober."

"You know, your mom never complained ab—"

Shrieking, Santana grabbed Puck's pillow and smacked him in the face with it. Puck let her, because if he used too much of his strength against her, she's just make an argument for Puck being strong enough to do all the chores by himself, while she lay on the couch eating bon-bons and not studying for her LSATs.

As Santana settled down, cuddling against Puck and looking up at the ceiling with him, Puck asked, "Do you really think I've got a shot with this guy?"

"Puck." Santana leveled her best trying-to-care smirk at him. "Figuring out your secret identity is practically his life's work. You should throw him off the scent, get some fantastic sex out of the arrangement, and send him on his way."

"Jesus, with an attitude like that, I'm fucking shocked — _shocked_ — that you're still single."

Santana let out a peal of laughter and hit Puck with a pillow again. "Shut the fuck up, Puckerman."

~*~

Inviting The Spartan over to his own apartment for a date-slash-interview wasn't something Kurt would deem _wise_. But circumstances being as they were, Kurt didn't see any alternatives. Kurt couldn't accuse Puck-the-barista of being Lima's own Caped Avenger in public, after all. He'd get arrested for being a lunatic.

Doing the accusation here, in the privacy of his own home, shifted the risk from being arrested to being beat up by the strongest man in the world, maybe even killed. But, Kurt had been following The Spartan's career-of-sorts for several years, and nothing led him to believe he could ever be violent against innocent people. He'd even saved a group of lawyers from drowning when their yacht capsized in the river. Add to that the fact that apparently The Spartan was Finn Hudson's oldest friend, and Kurt was sure that however the night went, he wouldn't come to harm.

Kurt got everything ready — a candlelit dinner that was mostly for show, unobtrusive music in the background to help set a calming mood, and his tape recorder on and ready to catch the words Kurt needed to hear.

Just before the agreed-upon time, Kurt had a moment of regret for how Finn would think of Kurt once he found out he'd gone ahead with the story. It was always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, right? And Finn was a forgiving sort of man, if the way he dealt with David Karofsky during their junior year of high school was anything to go on. Finn would forgive him. Eventually.

It was one minute past when someone knocked on Kurt's door. Heart up in his throat, Kurt rushed to answer it. Kurt opened the door to see a slim bouquet of flowers. "Puck?"

The man himself moved the flowers away from in front of his face and grinned. He wore a sport coat over a dark red collared shirt that was open at the throat, leading Kurt to think about what his chest looked like under the shirt. Kurt had gotten a good look at it the night before and he couldn't get the mental picture out of his mind. "Hey. These are for you. Along with—" Puck pulled his other hand out from behind his back to reveal a small pastry container. "It's low fat, but it tastes just like the real thing."

Flummoxed, Kurt opened and closed his mouth a few times before taking the pastry container and opening it. "Is this cheesecake?"

"Yeah," Puck replied with a grin.

"How did you know? This is my _favorite_!"

Shrugging, Puck brushed past Kurt and entered the apartment all but uninvited. "Dunno. I took a guess based on your coffee order." Puck set the flowers on the table behind Kurt's couch and started poking around, like he was trying to get a better sense of Kurt from the surroundings. Kurt had to admit to himself that he hadn't thought that by inviting The Spartan into his home, Kurt might be giving the superhero more much more information about himself than he figured he would need to.

Oh, well. What was done was done and Kurt had a job to do.

As Kurt closed the lid of the pastry container and then closed the front door, Puck turned and leaned his shoulder against one of the walls. "You look really nice tonight, Kurt."

Kurt felt his cheeks heat up at the praise and couldn't stop himself from looking down at the suit he was wearing. "Oh! Thank you." He swallowed nervously and passed Puck, setting the cheesecake down at one edge of the kitchen table. "Um. You too. You look good."

Shrugging, Puck said off-hand, "I know." When Kurt's mouth dropped open at Puck's ego, Puck chuckled and winked. "No. I figured I'd dress up." He took a few steps toward Kurt, stopping arm's length away. "You always talk about fashion, so I figured you'd appreciate it, and I really…" Puck looked down and huffed a little, though he was still smiling. "I don't want to fuck up what's probably the only chance you're gonna give me."

Kurt whimpered before he could stop himself. Instead of wanting to get to the bottom of Puck's identity as the world's only superhero, he had this unmistakable and almost undeniable urge to kiss Puck. Kurt managed to resist, but just barely. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "Would, um, would you like to eat?"

"Yeah, thanks," Puck said, pointing to a chair and waiting for Kurt's nod before he sat in it. "I'm starving, and this smells fantastic."

"I— I really didn't put much work into it," Kurt admitted. "It's certainly not flowers _and_ cheesecake." Kurt sat down, returning Puck's smile over the table. "I feel kind of unprepared now."

"Don't," Puck insisted, reaching across the table and setting his hand over Kurt's. "As long as it tastes nothing like my roommate's cooking, we're totally cool."

"Oh? Who's your roommate?" Kurt asked, imagining another man quite like Puck, muscle-bound and maybe a little crass. He jealously wondered if Puck and this roommate had ever been an item, before telling himself it didn't matter. He wasn't actually on a date. Kurt was here to get the truth about The Spartan.

Puck's fingers trailed along the back of Kurt's hand as he pulled away - making Kurt shiver - and he picked up the spoon Kurt had laid out at his place setting. Fiddling with the spoon, Puck asked, "You know the one girl I work with? Latina with a bad attitude? Santana."

"Oh, yeah," Kurt nodded, rolling his eyes. "She gives me such a hard time when you're not there."

Nostrils flaring, Puck asked, "What? What about?"

"About when I'm going to get my act together and call you," Kurt said, smirking over his wine glass as he took a sip. "She's a good friend."

"Yeah, sometimes," Puck replied, taking his own sip of wine. 

Kurt opened his mouth to say something about The Spartan, maybe ask if Santana knew about Puck's alter-ego, but what came out was, "I made pasta. You're not a vegetarian are you?"

Puck shrugged and shook his head. "Nah. I keep kosher sometimes, but really I'll eat anything."

As dinner continued, Kurt kept trying to bring up The Spartan issue, but every time he did, Puck would say something like, "Tell me about where you grew up," and then they'd get into long, drawn-out conversations extolling the relative virtues of East Lima versus West Lima, for example.

"We had the roller-rink," Kurt said with an air of finality. "There's no way you can beat that."

"Jones' Sundaes," Puck countered, taking a bite of his pasta and licking some of the sauce from his lips. Kurt dug his fingers into his leg to keep from whimpering again, because he was seriously starting to wonder what Puck's lips tasted like.

"Jones' is at the exact center of town. That doesn't count." Usually Kurt didn't argue for arguments' sake, but he liked the way Puck's voice sounded when he argued back and he liked the anticipation of waiting for what Puck would say next.

"Maybe we'll have to go there sometime soon. I'll show you exactly what side of town Jones' is on." Puck grinned, wiggling his eyebrows mock-provocatively, and Kurt laughed so loudly he clapped a hand over his mouth. Still grinning, Puck said, "Don't do that. I like your laugh."

Kurt blushed again. Annoyed by his feelings, Kurt rued his inability to set them aside long enough to say to Puck the single sentence that was the whole reason Kurt invited him over. In his frustration, Kurt set aside his remaining dinner and used his fork to scoop a bite of cheesecake away from the rest of the small pastry. 

"Oh my god," Kurt groaned, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. Without even thinking, he blurted out, "This tastes like an orgasm feels."

When Kurt opened his eyes, Puck was staring at him, mouth slightly open and eyes blown dark. Kurt shivered at the thrill that ran up his spine. He wondered if those were the same eyes bad guys saw just before The Spartan took them down, or if this was a look just for him. Like holding his hand to a candle flame to test how close he could get to it without getting burned, Kurt scooped up another bite of cheesecake and held it toward Puck. "Taste?"

Puck surged up over the table and, ignoring the fork in Kurt's hand, pressed his lips to Kurt's. Kurt had a moment of being impressed that Puck hadn't knocked anything on the table over before he realized he was being kissed! Puck's lips felt hard and hot against his own and they moved slowly, pressing deeper and deeper until the pressure suddenly let up and Puck pulled back.

"Sorry," Puck said, sounding breathless. Had Kurt taken The Spartan's breath away during a single kiss? He hadn't even properly kissed back! "I shouldn't have done that. I'll— Fuck, I'll go."

Puck stood up and Kurt jumped up after him, throwing his fork onto the table and catching Puck's wrist, like he had any chance of getting him to stop if Puck didn't want to stop. 

"No, wait. It's— I liked it." Kurt knew he was telling the truth. He wasn't playing a part anymore, trying to get The Spartan to reveal himself on tape. He was just a man, on a date with someone he actually really liked. "I'd do it again, if you want."

Puck stared at Kurt for a moment before closing the distance between them, putting his actually-smaller-than-expected hand on Kurt's jaw before he pressed their lips together again. This time Kurt kissed back eagerly, moving his lips against Puck's and letting himself lick Puck's lower lip. He tasted like pasta, but sweet and salty and a little musky at the same time. His heart beating a million miles an hour, Kurt flung his arms around Puck's waist and pulled him closer, so they were touching from hip to chest. Oh, god he wanted Puck. Kurt wanted him so bad, he felt himself tremble with it. 

Groaning against Kurt's mouth, Puck moved his one hand back into Kurt's hair and pressed his other against the small of Kurt's back. He kissed like he was desperate, too, and Kurt had half a thought that maybe being The Spartan was a lonely job. The majority of his thoughts, however, were consumed with how his blood surged through his body and an attack plan for removing Puck's clothes.

And then Puck stepped back, his hands on Kurt's upper arms, holding Kurt back from following and kissing him some more. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, letting his hands come up to cup Puck's elbows, because it was about all he could reach with Puck holding him at arm's length. "That got … intense."

Nodding, Kurt watched Puck swallow, like he was nervous. 

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah, no," Puck said, one of his hands slipping up toward Kurt's neck and jaw again. Kurt leaned into the touch. "Yeah, it's okay. It's fantastic. I've just gotta— I need to cool down is all. Before I—" Puck let out a heavy breath and then smiled at Kurt. He leaned in a placed a peck on Kurt's lips before pulling back. "Thanks for dinner, Kurt. I'll call you tomorrow?"

"You're sure you don't want to stay?" Kurt asked, following Puck toward the door, already aching at the loss of him pressed against Kurt's body. "We've got that cheesecake…"

Puck smiled. "No, you finish it. Another night, okay?"

"Promise?" Kurt couldn't help the petulant tone in his voice. While he wasn't usually one to sleep with someone on the first date, he also adhered to the policy that rules were made to be broken. And god, did he want to break this rule, preferably hard and fast.

Puck leaned in and whispered in Kurt's ear, "I promise, another night? When I'm feeling more in control. I'm gonna come back here and make you feel so good, you'll never dream about anyone else ever again."

Kurt shuddered and let himself whimper aloud that time. "Oh, god."

"It's Puck, actually," Puck said with a smirk as he pulled back. "Good night, Kurt."

Kurt pulled on Puck's lapels until Puck leaned back in and gave Kurt one final, deep kiss. "'Night."

After watching Puck walk away quickly toward the elevator at the end of the hall, Kurt closed the door and leaned against it. What was he going to do? Kurt hadn't mentioned The Spartan at all! He'd let himself be wined and dined, instead of wining and dining Puck. It wasn't supposed to happen this way!

And yet, Kurt couldn't find an ounce of regret in his heart.

~*~

When Puck left Kurt's apartment, his mind didn't come with him. It was stuck back there, kissing Kurt. During high school, Puck had been a little bit of a player. He'd been looking for direction, and his looks made an active sex life the direction of least resistance, so to speak. Add to that the fact that he tended to lose control of his strength more often when he wasn't sexually frustrated, and it meant he slept around a lot.

Unfortunately, he tended to sleep with people who didn't know him and didn't really care to. When they didn't want to see him as often as he wanted to see them, he lost control. Puck hit rock bottom after his first real relationship, which hadn't really been much until a pregnancy scare kicked him into stepping up and getting serious, bombed. There was no pregnancy, there was no baby, and without that factor, Quinn hadn't wanted anything to do with Puck. In retaliation, he'd almost knocked down a building with his fists (in his head, knocking down the convenience store where Quinn bought her favorite slushies made sense). 

A few years after the intensive therapy he'd needed to regulate his temper, he'd already turned most of his time into either working or _working_ , with none left for cultivating relationships with anyone with Santana or his coworkers. Santana was gay and Puck didn't sleep with his coworkers out of principle. That left … no one. 

Just out of high school, Puck had tried to go back to one-night stands and hook-ups, but he recognized himself slipping into old, harmful thought patterns and had stopped it. As a consequence, it had been years since Puck had slept with anyone, and even longer since he'd been in a relationship. 

This thing with Kurt wasn't supposed to be real, it was supposed to be a means to an end. He'd meant to figure out how much Kurt knew and maybe distract him long enough to make him forget about his story. Puck wasn't supposed to have _feelings_ for the guy, even if he'd always thought Kurt was cute and funny whenever he came into the shop. He first caught Puck's attention when he made a stupid joke about Valentine's day. But when you're not looking for something, sometimes you tend to go blind to it.

Puck didn't feel blind anymore. He had his eyes wide open, his mind focused, and his heart exposed, and all of them were begging him to go back to Kurt and finish what they'd started. "It's just desperation," Puck told himself, speaking into the dark night air.

Needing to clear his head and try to forget about Kurt as best he could, Puck made his way to one of the niches he'd appropriated around the city. Each contained a copy of his uniform, in case he was away from home, like tonight, when trouble came up. It was kind of hard to hide a floor-length cloak, a Spartan helmet with a bright red brush, and his bracers and shin guards, all under his clothes. And who wanted to carry around a bag all the time, anyway?

Ditching his fancy clothes in the same hidey-hole, Puck went out into the night. He kept trying to keep his eyes on his surroundings, but every time his attention drifted back to kissing Kurt. He found the mugging in progress simply by stumbling across it.

"Is that The Spartan?" one of the muggers said, dropping the wallet the victim had just handed him. 

"Oh, shit! Run!" cried the other, firing his gun in Puck's direction. The bullet ricocheted off the alley wall before grazing Puck's shin guard.

Cursing to himself, "Fuck…" Puck stumbled down the alleyway past the victim and toward the muggers. He chased them for a little while, but ultimately the still-healing wound in his shoulder and the new one on his shin slowed him down.

The muggers were getting away! Never before had Puck allowed a bad guy to get away!

"Yeah, you'd better run!" Puck called after them before limping back to the victim, a middle-aged man wearing a janitor's jumpsuit. "You okay, dude?"

"Are _you_?" the man asked, giving Puck's shin a significant look.

Waving it off, Puck said, "I'm fine. Third time I got shot this week. No big deal."

The man laughed. "Well, I sure do appreciate it. I thought I was dead!"

Puck gave the man a nod and a salute, and then walked away. That man could have died. Puck could have decided to stay with Kurt instead of being out on the street tonight. Puck could have accidentally startled the muggers into shooting their victim. No. He just had to get his head in the game.

He also needed to call things off between him and Kurt, before anyone got too involved. It was for the best.

~*~

Because he'd had an eye out for Kurt all morning (even though Kurt never came in before eight), Puck was the first to spot him. Puck shoved the cup, which he had just picked up before the bell on the door rang, at Santana. "Here, you do this one. I'm gonna make a drink and go on break."

"What?" she asked, using the sleeve at her shoulder to wipe her brow. "You were just on— Oh." Santana's gaze lingered on Kurt for half a second. Raising an eyebrow at Puck, she said, "Yeah. Get it!"

"Shut the fuck up," Puck cried back, finishing Kurt's drink and starting in on his own. "Or do you want to talk about that time that one blonde came in and you just about dropped your damn ovaries on the floor?"

"Touché."

Getting out from behind the counter was tricky while holding two cups of coffee, but Puck managed to lift the hinged counter and get out into the main store. He gave Kurt a smile and then his latte. "Hey."

"Hi!" Kurt replied, the tips of his ears turning red and his smile lighting up his face. "Thank you!"

"D'you wanna sit with me for a few minutes?" Puck jerked his head toward a couple of arm chairs in a quieter section of the store, but before he could take one step in that direction, an older woman sat down in one and unfurled her paper.

"How 'bout here?" Kurt asked, already moving toward the one love seat in the whole shop. He sat down on one cushion and patted the other expectantly.

Puck took a seat and sipped his coffee. Kurt smiled at Puck over the brim of his, one eyebrow quirking up ever so slightly. 

Shit. 

Puck couldn't do it. He couldn't tell Kurt he didn't want to see him. Puck wanted to see him all the time. All of him all the time. Fuck. Puck found himself smiling back.

"You left all of a sudden last night," Kurt said, his tone lighthearted, but Puck could see the way his eyes were sharp and a little too observant. 

Puck reminded himself that Kurt was the man who'd noticed when corporate changed the "Apache" latte to the "American Southwest" latte on the menu. Puck kept a running count and Kurt was one of maybe five who commented on it and one of only two who expressed any opinions on the matter.

"Yeah, sorry." _Now is the time, Puck. Tell him you're not ready to date. Tell him there's someone else. Tell him you're moving to Guam._

"I got nervous," popped out of Puck's mouth before he could stop it. "No, that's not what I meant. I—"

Chuckling, Kurt took another sip of his coffee. "It's okay to be nervous. I'm nervous."

"Oh." Puck smiled before he could help himself. Kurt smiled back, bigger this time, with his teeth showing. "Well, if _you're_ nervous, then it's okay."

"Okay."

Why did Kurt have to keep smiling at Puck? Each smile made it that much harder to tell Kurt he didn't want to see him anymore. That and, "God, you have beautiful eyes."

Kurt looked away and put a hand to his cheek, covering his blush. 

"Too much?" Puck asked. "That was too much. I'll stop—"

Kurt leaned in toward Puck and told him in a soft voice, "Not too much." Then Kurt pressed his lips to Puck's mouth, giving him a short and chaste, but soft kiss. "But unfortunately, I can't let you sing my praises all day, as much as I love it. I have to go to work."

Kurt stood and Puck followed suit, jumping up. He still hadn't broken things off with Kurt, and his whole body screamed at him not to do it. Puck just needed a little time to think, right? A little time and a little distance. But not too much time, or he'd lose his momentum, like follow through on a punch.

"Come to my place for dinner?" Puck asked, grabbing the fingers of Kurt's free hand to slow him down a little. "Tonight?"

"Tonight," Kurt said without hesitation. He held up his cup. "Thanks for the coffee."

Puck watched Kurt leave, waving when he turned back at the door and smiled at Puck one last time.

Beside Puck, Santana said, "You are so fucked."

"I know." Puck finished off his coffee and went back to work, jittery and determined to come up with a plan.

~*~

"Kurt? Kurt!"

"Huh?" Kurt said, shaking himself away from his thoughts and focusing on Mercedes. "What's up?"

"It's quittin' time." She did a small celebratory dance, which made Kurt smile. "Wanna come to happy hour? We can do some karaoke!"

"I would love to—"

"But?" Mercedes raised an eyebrow at him.

"I—" Kurt couldn't help himself from grinning. "I have a date."

Squealing with excitement, Mercedes asked, "With who?"

"The—" Kurt started to say before stopping himself. He didn't have a date with The Spartan. He had a date with Puck, who just happened to be The Spartan on occasion. It was a fact Kurt couldn't quite prove. Yet. 

And to be honest, as much as Kurt wanted to know the truth, he was starting to wish he'd made a move with Puck months ago. And he was starting to wish he'd never realized The Spartan's secret identity.

"The–the barista from the Lima Bean. You know, the one with the Mohawk? His name's Puck."

"Ooh, the hot one?" Mercedes asked, swatting Kurt's shoulder. "I'm so jealous right now."

"Maybe you should ask out the blonde barista you keep staring at whenever we go get coffee together. It couldn't hurt."

"Stop deflecting," Mercedes chuckled, but she looked down and fidgeted with the hem of her jacket for a moment. After a short, deep breath, Mercedes asked, "So where are you going?"

"I'm not sure yet," Kurt lied. He didn't want Mercedes to bitch him out for going over to Puck's apartment when they still barely knew each other.

Kurt busied himself gathering his things, but he stopped when Mercedes stepped closer and touched his arm. When she spoke, Mercedes kept her voice low. "Maybe, maybe don't tell Adam about having a date? Not just yet."

Kurt drew his eyebrows together. "What? Why?"

Rolling her eyes, Mercedes cuffed Kurt on the back of the head. "Because that boy's been trying to ask you out for months. Badly, I know."

"That's—" Kurt thought back over his recent interactions with Adam and realized that he'd been so dense. 

This could be Kurt's out! This could be his reason _not_ to fall for Puck, not to feel bad about exposing his secret to the world. Kurt didn't have to be lonely, and he didn't have to date Puck. There were other fish in the sea.

Fidgeting with the hem of his vest, Kurt told Mercedes, "Yeah, okay. I see what you're saying now. And, I'm not even sure things with this guy will work out, you know?"

"Oh, I _know_ , baby." Mercedes gave Kurt a happy grin, kissed his cheek, and sashayed away back toward her desk. 

Kurt got out of there while the getting was good. Now that he knew about Adam's intentions, Kurt was sure he couldn't see the man without turning bright red. The first few times, at least.

When Kurt got to the address Puck gave him, he was surprised to see that it was a normal apartment building. He guessed he was hoping The Spartan would live somewhere a little more … impressive. This building looked just like dozens of other cookie-cutter apartment buildings lining the streets of downtown Lima. 

"You be good to him," a voice growled from Kurt's left. Looking over, Kurt saw it was another of the Lima Bean's baristas, the dark-haired Latina. Santana, Puck had called her when he told Kurt she was his roommate. She'd pulled her hair up into a severe ponytail and crossed her arms over her chest, one hip jutted out. "I'm serious. You be good to my man or I'm gonna make sure every cup of coffee you drink from now until eternity will have piss in it."

Kurt blinked at the woman, not really knowing what to say to her declaration. He wondered how she could be sure of her ability to taint every single cup of Kurt's coffee, but something about her made him willing to accept that it could be done. "Okay?" Kurt frowned. "Puck is _your_ man?"

"Only one I can stand. Of course," she sauntered closer, "sometimes I lend him out to the … _worthy_."

"I don't believe we've been formally introduced," Kurt said, drawing his brows together.

The woman stuck out her hand, and Kurt shook it. "Santana Lopez, Puck's roommate and confidante. Cross me and die."

"Kurt Hummel," he replied. "Cross me and get mildly scathing criticism on the Internet."

Santana laughed, which Kurt took as a good sign. Wiggling her fingers at him, she said, "I'll leave you two alone for your date, but beware. I sleeps in my bed and _only_ in my bed. I'll be home later."

Kurt watched Santana turn on her heel and saunter away.

Puck answered the door quickly, like he’d been waiting just beyond for Kurt’s arrival. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Kurt said, leaning forward and kissing Puck’s cheek when he allowed it. “Your roommate is a scary lady.”

Chuckling, Puck said, “Yeah. Did she mention the razorblades in her hair?”

“Razor—“ Kurt shook his head.

Puck rolled his eyes. “Running joke. Guess you had to be there.” He motioned Kurt into the room with a wave. “I certainly feel safer with her around, though the watching me while I sleep gets a little annoying.”

Puck’s tone was light, so Kurt laughed, assuming it was a joke. He also figured if there was anyone who would feel safe without someone else in the house, it would be The Spartan, and thus the whole sentiment had to be taken with a grain of salt. 

Kurt let himself take a look around as Puck led him through a living area and into a dining-slash-kitchen area at the back of the apartment. He peeked down a short hallway that had to lead to the bedrooms and bathrooms, wondering which one was Puck’s. Nothing much in the living room struck Kurt as having personality, save the life-size Marilyn Monroe cut-out, which was wearing an actual pair of sunglasses and a Hawaiian grass skirt over her famous white, billowing dress.

Puck pointed at the cut out and said, “Don’t mind Marilyn. She’s real quiet. Doesn’t eat much. That’s how she keeps her paper-thin figure.” He grinned, eyes twinkling.

The laugh escaped him before Kurt knew to expect it. Kurt couldn’t remember laughing this often in quite a long time, at least not with someone he was dating, maybe since he and Blaine broke up in high school. It felt nicer than Kurt figured it would. 

Smirking at Marilyn, Kurt said, “I hope I’m not intruding on you two. I wouldn’t want to be the third wheel in this situation.”

“Nah,” Puck said, stepping closer to Kurt and taking the dessert container out of his hands. Then Puck didn’t step away like Kurt expected, he stepped even closer and kissed Kurt on the lips. “She’s the third wheel. You’re like, the _first_ wheel or somethin’.”

The scent of Puck’s skin and the tingly feeling his lips left on Kurt’s made Kurt’s heart thud in his chest. His stomach flipped over and his hands reached out, grabbing Puck’s waist so he couldn’t escape as easily as he’d invaded Kurt’s space.

The voice at the back of his mind told Kurt that if The Spartan wanted to leave, there was nothing Kurt could do to force him to stay. But this man in front of Kurt _wasn’t_ The Spartan. Not at the moment. He was _Puck_. And Puck was a man Kurt feared he was probably quickly developing feelings for. 

Puck’s eyes flicked down to Kurt’s hands on his waist and then back to Kurt’s eyes. The same hazel-brown eyes that Kurt saw on either side of The Spartan’s nose-guard studied Kurt. They flicked back and forth in which of Kurt’s eyes they focused on. Kurt began to feel dizzy and he realized he’d stopped breathing.

Kurt’s quick gasp set Puck into motion, because suddenly Puck’s free hand rested heavy on the back of Kurt’s head. Drawing breath in through his nose, Puck pressed his lips to Kurt’s again, harder and more demanding than he had before. Kurt’s knees wobbled until he locked them and started kissing back. 

Puck kissed slowly, but firmly and with this trembling edge that made Kurt think of a pot ready to boil or a spring wound tight. Kurt tried to pick up the pace, sliding his arms further around Puck’s back and kissing him faster, but Puck wouldn’t budge on pace. Frustration and urgency boiled in Kurt’s veins and he loved it. 

Panting as he pulled back, Puck leaned toward the kitchen table and set Kurt’s dessert on it before quickly returning to Kurt’s lips. A few kissed later, he pulled away again, which made Kurt want to whine. “D’you wanna eat dinner first, or...?”

“Or,” Kurt declared, to urgent to second guess his decision. “Lots of ‘or’. Do _you_ want dinner first?”

Smirk light on his face, Puck said, “Hell, no,” and dropped his hands to Kurt’s hips, pulling them flush with his own. 

Sparks of pleasure danced through Kurt’s body and he shuddered. “Oh, god!”

“Yeah,” Puck said in agreement, his fingers finding their way under the hem of Kurt’s shirt and teasing at his waistband. “Shit, your skin is so soft. Let’s...” He nodded his head toward the hallway that had to lead to Puck’s bedroom.

Again, Kurt could have hesitated, but he didn’t. He stepped backward, toward the hallway, and pulled Puck with him. “Let’s,” he agreed.

~*~

When Kurt woke up, his only covering was one of Puck’s sheets. He lay half on top of Puck, one leg thrown across Puck’s upper thighs, one arm across his very defined chest. Kurt hadn't done any of this since breaking up with his college boyfriend, David. To be able to lay here, with most of his skin touching someone else's skin, made Kurt's chest ache with happiness.

Puck breathed, slowly and deeply, but he didn't even twitch when Kurt could no longer ignore his bladder and had to pull away. After slipping his underwear and t-shirt back on and grabbing his phone from his pants pocket, Kurt found the bathroom. He meant to wander back into Puck's room right away, but Kurt got curious.

He poked around in the kitchen for a bit, eating some of the steak and potatoes Puck had prepared for dinner. Then Kurt put away the leftovers so they wouldn't go bad. The kitchen didn't have any fancy appliances or utensils, and most of the pots and pans had little scratches or dents or chips. Kurt liked it. He liked that the silverware was in the drawer below the plate cabinet. He liked that the glasses were kept in the cabinet next to the sink. Even though everything was pretty generic and there weren't really any decorations, unlike Puck's room.

Kurt made his way back there to see if Puck would wake up soon. With his mouth slack and his limbs still sprawled everywhere, it looked like it was going to be a while before Puck woke up.

Kurt couldn't help but let his investigative reporting skills kick in. He noticed the band posters all over the walls — Puck seemed to favor an odd mix of hard rock, folk rock, and electronica. Kurt went looking for books, but mostly found music and football magazines instead. The set of shelves in Puck's room held a random assortment of things, like a signed baseball, a few small trophies, and a model spaceship that Kurt knew he recognized, but not from where. 

And then, in one corner of the room, sat Puck's closet. Door wide open, the closet held two bars for hanging clothes, one above the other. Kurt was about to turn away and go poke through the papers on Puck's desk when he noticed something shiny behind the clothes. 

Carefully, so he didn't make a sound, Kurt pushed the clothes aside. Sitting there, on top of a red cloth which had to be The Spartan's cloak, rested the bright gold, red-brush-topped helmet. This was The Spartan's costume. Kurt had his proof.

But looking back at the man sleeping where Kurt had left him, Kurt knew he couldn't let this information spread. If everyone knew who Puck was, best-case scenario they'd call him all the time for help. Worst-case they'd arrest him for vigilantism and send him away for a long, long time. Kurt hated either possibility. He knew Puck as a person now, a person Kurt was rapidly developing feelings for. What kind of person loved someone and still spilled their secrets to the world at large?

Kurt still felt like maybe the public deserved to know the truth about Puck, but he also knew that this pain in his heart wouldn't let him be the person responsible for that. Maybe it made him hypocritical, but Kurt didn't really care. 

Leaving Puck's room, Kurt wandered back to the living room and dropped onto the couch. Out the window, the sun began to set, streaking the sky orange and pink. Kurt dug his phone out of his pants pocket and began to compose an email.

_Dear Mr. Schuester,_

_You were right. Chasing The Spartan's identity is an impossible cause. Every avenue I've pursued has lead to a dead end. I'm sorry for obsessing over the story for so long. As of right now, I'm giving the story up for good._

_Bring on the celebrity gossip and —_

"Thank you." Puck's voice broke into Kurt's thoughts from behind the couch. Puck circled and came around to sit next to Kurt. "I knew you'd do the right thing."

Kurt frowned at his unfinished email. "Don't tell me that's all this is between you and me. Damage control? Convincing me not to—"

Puck cut off Kurt's words by surging forward and pressing a deep kiss to Kurt's mouth. "No," he said when he pulled back, Kurt's lips following his automatically for half a second. "I _really_ like you, Kurt. I just needed to make sure I could trust you."

Kurt's eyes flicked around Puck to the closet behind him. "You don't normally keep your costume in your closet, do you?" God, he felt so stupid. Of course this was a test. Of course Puck couldn't trust Kurt right off the bat.

"No." Puck's hand lingered on Kurt's knee. "Well, sort of. I'm better at hiding shit than that."

"You'd _have_ to be. I know dozens of people who've seriously tried to figure out who you are." Kurt studied Puck's face, watching his eyebrows skip up and then down in acknowledgement. "Have you pulled this test with any of the other people you've slept with? What happened to them when it looked like they weren't going to pass?"

"Kurt," Puck said gently, shaking his head. "There hasn't been anyone since before I put on the helmet. Not since _High School_."

Kurt took a moment to watch Puck's body language. Puck looked straight at Kurt, without his eyes cutting away. Puck didn't fidget, he didn't pick at his fingers or roll his neck or tap his feet. Either he was telling the truth, or he was a great liar. The Spartan would have to be a great liar to protect his secret identity, wouldn't he?

Puck spoke up again, "Look, I...I didn't— I meant to make sure I could trust you _before_ we slept together. I was just going to go hang out in the bathroom long enough for you to find out."

Even though he didn't want to, Kurt smiled at the implication that Puck couldn't help but throw out his plans once Kurt stepped through the door. Pulling the corners of his mouth back in line as best he could, Kurt asked, "What were you going to do if I _had_ written my exposé?"

"Skip the country, probably." Puck said the sentence with such nonchalance that Kurt believed him.

"You'd give up on protecting Lima, just because everyone found out who you really are?"

" _Puck_ is who I really am," he insisted, standing up and pacing a few steps away. "The guy who makes people coffee, and lives with his lesbian roommate, and thinks certain reporters are cute. The Spartan? He's just something I do because I can."

"That's the only reason?"

Puck shrugged with one shoulder. "If my Nana had ever known what I could do and found out I wasn't using it to help people, she'd make these disappointed scoffs all the time, like she did after I was in Juvie. I'm trying to make her proud."

Kurt's heart swelled in his chest. "You're a good man, Puck."

Puck smiled as he looked down, all but twisting one toe into the floor. "Thanks."

Kurt stood up and approached Puck carefully, until they were standing only a few inches apart, face-to-face. He took both of Puck's hands in his. "I'll send that email, if you do one tiny thing for me." Kurt put on his best smile and batted his eyelids.

Smart enough to look a little wary, Puck asked, "What?"

"Help me write an article about The Spartan." Puck started to pull away, so Kurt spoke quickly. " _Nothing_ identifying, just something to let people know why you do what you do. Maybe your sit-up routine? Your _abs_ have always been a big topic of discussion around the office."

Puck laughed and nodded. "Okay. But only if you help me pull a prank on one of my friends. He's a police officer. Finn Hudson."

Grinning, Kurt leaned closer and kissed Puck's cheek. "It's a small world, Spartan. Finn's mom and mine are practically best friends. I'd love to help you play a prank on him."

Circling his arms around Kurt's back, Puck said, "Send that email, baby. This is gonna be good."

Kurt couldn't help but agree.


End file.
